Beyond the Veil
by SiriuslyGeorgia
Summary: He fell through the veil like a bullet through a waterfall. And then he was falling.


He fell through the veil like a bullet through a waterfall.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was shouting for him, pleading for him to come back. He wanted to go back, but at the same time he didn't. He was mid-battle, he knew, but at the same time he wasn't.

He was just falling.

He'd always imagined death as chaos. Echoing screams, flashes burnt in corneas, the stench of smoke clogging nostrils. He'd left all that behind.

Instead, it was darkness, quiet, peace.

He wasn't sure whether he had eyes anymore, couldn't bring himself to care, but still he saw.

He saw four walls and a burn mark where his name had once been. He'd had a name, he remembered then, yet he didn't know it. He remembered the bitterness and claustrophobia, though, the recklessness that had led him to this moment. He didn't remember regret. He remembered relief.

He saw a boy. A strong, sure, brave and loving boy. He felt regret, then. Not for leaving his bleak sanctuary for that boy, never for that, but for his own loss. For not being able to be there for the boy turning into a man. It would be something to behold, he was sure.

He saw scars, prominent in the moonlight. He could almost feel the rough texture of the raised, ruined skin underneath his fingertips – almost. Could almost hear the resigned and surprised laughter that always followed. A piece of himself was still in the mortal plane, carried in the scarred man's heart.

The images came quicker, then. Bright blue eyes, twinkling. A pig's snout framed by pink hair. A lion's mane against a backdrop of red. The slender neck of a majestic creature as it bowed to him. Four wands trailing ink onto parchment. Multicoloured feathers. A flickering fire. A motorbike. Antlers. Paws. Trees. Chocolate. Butterbeer. Prohibited firewhiskey. Green eyes, red hair. The silvery shimmer of a unique cloak.

He saw it all. Everything slowed down, even his sensation of falling. In fact, he felt still now. Upright, if directions even existed anymore. He sensed he was close to something. But what? He'd been macabre in life, but in death – if that was what this was – he was apprehensive.

That was, until he saw his brothers.

He opened eyes he found he still possessed, and saw his brothers. Two of them, stood side by side. One by blood, one by everything that mattered.

One of them, shorter and stockier moved forward, blocking the other from view. The movement was more graceful than anything he could remember from life. His brother's dark hair contrasted with the white space of their surroundings.

"You were right," said the brother in low rasp. "I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He felt unhinged. Unmoored in an unfamiliar environment over which he had no control, no knowledge. All he could do was look. He saw his brother by blood, estranged until the very end, open and close his mouth, look down at his feet. He was dressed in a long black robe – they both were. The brother had been younger than him in life, even more so in death. He wanted to tell him so many things, ask him burning questions, shake him for being so stupid. He knew he wanted to do these things, but he didn't know what he wanted to say, what answers he wanted, why this pale boy had been so stupid. He couldn't do anything. He didn't even know his own name. It had been taken from him when the veil had taken his life.

The younger brother seemed to understand something he didn't, because suddenly it was just the two of them.

He knew this other brother was the other half of him. The better half of him. He hadn't been whole since the death of his brother not of blood. Now they were both dead, what did that make him?

This brother didn't leave a sizeable distance between them like the other had when he moved forward.

"Sirius," his real brother breathed as he crashed into him.

Sirius.

He was Sirius Black.

Sirius Orion Black: godfather, friend, lover, fighter, brother. He fell forward. He had years on this brother now, even though they'd been the same age a lifetime ago, but the bespectacled man kept them both upright with ease. "James."

They stayed like that, arms wrapped around each-other, for a length of time Sirius neither knew nor cared to know. All that mattered was they were reunited after fourteen long years. It was strange, and yet not, how familiar the embrace felt, as if the past had just melted away. As if some bonds just didn't waver. He was home.

Home wasn't 12 Grimmauld Place, where he'd spent most of his life trapped between the walls, or the other place he'd spent twelve unending years, trapped by more than just walls. Home was the friend who'd taken him in at sixteen and acted as if Sirius had done him a favour. As if he hadn't thrown Sirius a lifeline. Home was the friend whose death he'd caused.

Sirius pulled back, remembering why the other man was here. Why his best friend was dead. James kept his hands firmly on Sirius' shoulders, as if he couldn't bear to break the contact. "I am so, so sorry," he croaked, his voice cracking. "I should've known – Pettigrew –" He could still cry, here, wherever here was.

James shook his head vehemently. "None of us could've known." He spoke with conviction. "I would've died for any of you, and I knew you and Moony were the same. We couldn't have known Wormtail would betray us like that, because we would never dream of it ourselves."

"But if I was the secret keeper, like we'd _planned,_ you and Lily would have raised Harry. You'd have been a _family_." Like James had always been Sirius' family.

James' expression became pained for a few moments. Sirius had seen him beaten, bruised and bitten in their youth, and he'd heard his angry yells and frustrated sobs, but he'd never seen him look so broken before. "Lily and I would've loved nothing – _nothing –_ more than raising our baby and helping shape him into the extraordinary young man he's become, but Voldemort would've gotten to us either way."

Sirius had spent twelve years with his worst memories, his biggest regrets. He'd thought of every possibility, every wrong move he'd made. "You can't be sure of that!"

"Lily and I, and you as well… we weren't made to watch from the stands as the war was fought in front of us. We were going stir-crazy in that house, and Harry longed to go outside. We would've slipped up eventually. It was inevitable." His voice was bitter as he added, "Harry was born for this."

"None of this is fair." Strange, Sirius thought, that he sounded like the petulant child out of the two of them, when he'd lived over a decade longer.

A wry smile from James. "I've had fourteen years to dwell on the unfairness of it all, mate, it doesn't get you anywhere."

"So, what does?"

Sirius had asked his question as a quick retort, a honed response during conversations with his closest friend. James, however, seemed to ponder the question seriously. "Realising your son has all the qualities you would've instilled in him without your guidance, despite everything that's happened to him. Knowing he's inherently good, through and through. Thanking whatever force brought us here that he still has people who care for him, and that he has his own friends who would die for him."

"When did you get so wise?"

One of James' hands moved from Sirius' shoulder and into his, James', hair, ruffling the strands. The gesture was so familiar, so _James_ , that Sirius' knees nearly buckled. "Probably right between the time I was staring into Voldemort's eyes and the time he killed me."

Was it appropriate to laugh when someone made fun of their own death? Sirius wasn't sure of the etiquette; he sniggered regardless. "That sounds more like the James I know."

"I haven't changed from the James you know," he pointed out. He was right. He still looked twenty-one, no different from the last time they'd been together. "Unlike some people! You could've at least shaved before you charged off to save my son, now you're stuck with that scraggly beard forever."

"I died for your son, and you're giving me shit for how I looked doing it?" he tried for indignance, but his lips were tugging into a smile even as he spoke.

"You're not special, Padfoot, I did that too." He smirked. "I just had the good grace to look good for the occasion."

"Now I'm wishing Regulus stayed around. What's up with him anyway?"

James' face darkened. "That's his story to tell, but it won't have a happy ending," he said cryptically. Sirius was about to inquire further when James' expression cleared and he started speaking again. "I wanted to thank you before I did anything else, but you ruined my plans by going all soppy on me."

"Thank me?" asked Sirius, confused. "Thank me for dying? That's a bit crass for you."

Sirius recognised the glare he received. It was a look that said Sirius was ruining James's profound moment. James was fond of creating his own profound moments. "For looking out for Harry."

"I knew him for two years and then got myself killed." This was not a bit crass for Sirius. Crass was his speciality.

James tilted his head and met Sirius' eyes. "You mean more to him than you know. You've always been there for him, when you could."

"I should've done more."

"He loves you, and you love him. He knew you were always there for him."

"Not anymore."

James sighed. "No. This will –" James cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "This will hurt him, immensely, but it won't destroy him. He's a strong kid."

"I know," Sirius agreed, blinking away his own tears. "I wish there was something more we could do for him."

"There hasn't been a second since I saw Voldemort at our door that I haven't thought the same thing, mate. Seeing him at his lowest, knowing there's nothing me or Lily can do for him… well, it's horrendous to tell you the truth, but he's come out of it stronger every time."

Sirius reached up to grasp James' forearm. He hoped the touch conveyed everything he didn't trust himself to say.

"And Remus…" whispered Sirius.

"I know."

They were silent for a few moments. Sirius was glad James knew him well enough to let him sift through his grief over Remus alone. James was his brother, yes, but what was between him and Remus had been something else entirely.

It was James who broke the silence, his tone light and forced. "We always knew he'd be the last surviving marauder."

"Don't suppose someone's already offed Wormtail?" Sirius asked darkly. Hopefully.

"Unfortunately, no, but he owes my ingenious offspring a life debt, so I suspect we'll be seeing him soon."

Sirius scoffed. "He'll end up in hell, if there's any shred of justice left in this repugnant world." A thought suddenly struck Sirius, and he looked around them wildly. All he could see was white. "This isn't hell, is it?"

James' laugh had haunted Sirius' nightmares, and riddled his dreams, for years. He welcomed it. "Lily's here, so it couldn't possibly be Hell."

"Where is my favourite ginger, anyway?"

"Make sure you tell her that, she's been thinking you've replaced her with a Weasley. Ron, probably, but I told her Fred and George were far more likely." He removed his hands from Sirius' shoulders and moved to his side, slinging an arm around his neck instead. "She's where all the magic happens. Come on, she's _dying_ to see you." James started to lead Sirius forwards, where vibrant colours were now swirling in the distance. Sirius couldn't see his whole face, but he heard the smirk in his brother's voice as he asked, "Too soon?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Not sure where this came from! If you liked it, please favourite or leave a review!**

 **If anyone's waiting for the second instalment of Fake It 'Til You Make It, I'm working on it daily, but I'm back at uni and have exams coming up so please be patient – it'll be up within the next few weeks for sure.**


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